


Double Date

by CrocInCrocs, Romiress



Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics), The Authority
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Developing Relationship, Exhibitionism, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Includes Art, M/M, Naked Male Clothed Male, POV Clark Kent, Rimming, Universe Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrocInCrocs/pseuds/CrocInCrocs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: Clark really wants to be public about his relationship with Bruce, or at least Superman's relationship with Batman. Bruce insists it isn't possible.If only there were another world's finest couple to show them how it's done.Written for the SuperBat Reverse Bang, with art by @CrocInCrocs and writing by @Romiress.
Relationships: Apollo/Midnighter, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne/Apollo/Midnighter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 181
Collections: Superbat Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

"I want to go public."

From Bruce's reaction, someone watching from a distance might have thought that Clark had just announced his intention to murder him, and that doesn't sit well with Clark.

"Why?"

"I can think of about ten dozen reasons, Br—"

"Names."

"I can think of about ten dozen reasons, Batman."

Clark knows better than to use names while they're out on a mission, but it's hard not to slip up after everything that's happened. A part of him wants to say that he should have earned the right to say it, and that his senses will keep them safe, but the fact is that he knows Bruce is right: just because he can hear whether there are _humans_ in earshot doesn't mean his senses are flawless.

They've been overheard, before. It's not as if it would be the first time.

"There's no reason for us to _go public,"_ Bruce says, and the way he says it makes his disdain for the idea clear. He's militant about protecting his identity, and while Clark can understand why he'd be reluctant, he's hoping to get the benefit of the doubt as they run along Gotham rooftops.

Or more accurately, as _Bruce_ runs along Gotham rooftops, with Clark sailing along beside him, keeping pace but making no move to run ahead.

"Like I said, I can think of a lot of reasons," Clark says. He's not sure why he's bothering. It's not like he's asked before or anything, but Bruce's opinion on things seems painfully obvious. Bruce considers secrecy paramount, and while Clark _also_ has a secret identity, they undeniably treat those identities in very different ways. 

"None of those reasons trump safety," Bruce says. "If we announced that Batman and Superman were—" Clark waits to hear the word _dating_ and is of course disappointed. "—involved, then anything that compromised either of our identities would inevitably put the other at risk. If we announced that our civilian identities were involved, it would have its own risks."

"I just think that we've been at this long enough that we could... could let people know."

"The League knows."

"The League only knows because Flash walked in on us kissing and couldn't keep his mouth shut. You didn't _choose_ to tell them."

"Penny-One knows."

"Penny-One knows more about your life than you do."

"Now isn't the time to be talking about this," Bruce says, turning his attention away from Clark.

"You didn't want to talk about it on our last date because it would ruin the mood. You didn't want to talk about it when I came over to visit because—"

"I understand your point," Bruce says, his voice strained. "But we _are_ on a mission."

"A low priority mission to check out anomalous readings," Clark says, and his head turns to give Bruce a pointed look. "No one is around, no one is paying us any attention, and now is the perfect time to talk about it."

Bruce stops on a seemingly random rooftop, and for a brief moment Clark expects that they're actually going to talk, but of course that isn't how it plays out. Instead, Bruce begins to produce an array of equipment, setting up sensors along the roof as he tries to get a better reading on what's happening in the area.

"There was an energy spike..."

"B, we have to talk about this at some point," Clark says, exasperated by the entire conversation. He had always known Bruce was stubborn, but this?

"It isn't the right time."

"We've been dating for _two years._ We can afford to tell people."

"We already told the people who matter."

Which Clark supposes is true. Bruce's family knows. The League knows. Clark's even told his parents. But that isn't the same thing as _people_ knowing.

"One or the other," Clark says, setting his jaw and preparing for an argument. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life pretending I'm single. Pretending that I'm not in love with you."

Dragging the confession out of Bruce had been nothing short of torturous, and Clark's fairly sure that it only happened at all because Bruce thought he was dying. He'd thought that getting it would be the hard part, but now that he's faced with this... well, maybe not.

"We're supposed to be investigating the energy readings in this area," Bruce says, refusing to look at him. "That should have our focus."

"Let me guess," Clark says dryly. "They aren't doing anything, and we've been sent here for no reason?"

"No. They're rising."

Clark decides that he should _probably_ focus on the matter at hand, and after a second's thought allows the issue to be shelved as he swoops lower, no longer standing guard in favor of peering over Bruce's shoulder at the readings.

He's right: they're rising rapidly.

"...Do we know what it is?"

"Comparing these to past readings, I would guess that it's an extra-spatial incursion. Someone using a high-powered teleportation method—potentially from as far off as space, or..."

Clark _really_ doesn't like the way Bruce trails off there.

"Or?"

"Or it's another dimension about to punch through to ours."

Never a good sign.

"Which is why I'm here. In case we need to punch back?"

"You're here because the readings are coming from sixty feet _above_ this roof, and I can't fly."

Oh.

Clark tips his head back, staring up at the sky and finding... well, nothing. The sky's cloudless, but so late at night there's not all that much to see. It's not particularly interesting, and if Clark's being honest he'd much rather be inside. Bruce might love running around at night tracking down criminals who the police can't find, but Clark vastly prefers working during the day. He likes the feeling of the sun on his skin, and a chilly midwinter night is _not_ his idea of a good time.

"...So how long do we have?" Clark makes himself ask, eager for the mission part of things to be over. He's not completely dropping the argument they were having before, but he knows better than to try to have it until the mission is complete.

"Your guess is about as good as mine," Bruce grumbles.

There's a brief silence, and Clark spends it trying to figure out how he can get through to Bruce on the matter. Maybe if he emphasizes that the risk is minimal...?

"Thirty seconds."

"What—"

"Twenty-six seconds," Bruce says, pointing up.

Clark lifts off the ground, staring up where he's pointing, but there's nothing actually there. The sky's clear, and there's absolutely no sign that anything's actually happening as Clark counts it down in his head.

"There's nothing—" He says as his count hits zero.

Apparently he's a bit fast, because suddenly there _is_ something. There's a brief flash of light and then _something_ appears, dropping down towards them. Clark streaks upwards, moving to intercept whoever just came through—as fast as things are going he gets the impression of _vaguely humanoid_ and _dark_ and not much else—but things don't quite work out like that.

A half second after popping through, the shape abruptly stops, hanging in midair, and Clark falters, taking a look.

They're people. There's two of them, one apparently capable of flight and the other very much _not_ as he dangles from the one who can fly.

Clark doesn't recognize the flier, but that hardly matters, because looking up at them it's impossible not to recognize the person dangling from him. A dark cape, a black cowl, the hint of a jaw that's the only visible skin...

Bruce.

Another Bruce.

But the impression only lasts a moment. It isn't a cape: it's a long trench-coat. It isn't proper cowl since there's no ears. The jaw's all wrong for Bruce, and while there are similarities, they're similarities that only hold up to a first glance.

"Crap," the man who is definitely not Batman says, and Clark ascends to be at eye level with them.

The flying man still isn't all that familiar to him. He's fair, his hair not just blond like Clark first thought but actually white, long and hanging just past his shoulders in a wave. But closer, Clark finally notices what he should have noticed first: the halo.

It's faint, and his original thought was that it was a trick of the light, but hanging just in front of them there's no denying that the flying man has a literal halo of light around his head, glowing faintly and barely visible.

"...Apollo?" Clark finds himself saying. The man's wearing a white and gold suit, but the design (and symbol) are all wrong. Apollo's also supposed to be _blond,_ and his hair's all different, but... Well, the halo of light is a pretty damned distinct characteristic.

The man's eyebrows furrow together as he stares at Clark, and there isn't an ounce of recognition. Clark's never really _dealt_ with Apollo before, but he's still fairly confident that Apollo would know who he is.

He's pretty sure the entire planet knows who he is, for better or worse.

"Is that who I think it is?" Bruce asks in his ear, and Clark genuinely doesn't even know how to answer that. Yes? Maybe? He can't figure out who Bruce would think it is, and after a second he decides that dangling in the air is probably not the best way to have this conversation.

"Listen," Clark says after a second. "I'm not sure what's happening here, but can we drop down to the rooftop to avoid everyone staring at us as we have this conversation? We don't mean any harm."

He holds his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, and the two new arrivals share a quick glance before the flier turns, nods, and starts to drop down.

Bruce is waiting down below, his arms folded across his chest and a deeply displeased look on his face.

"That wasn't a door," he says immediately, and even under the cowl Clark can tell the man in the trench-coat doesn't like the situation. The scowl is _painfully_ obvious.

"Hold on," Clark says. "Let's start at the beginning here, because I feel like we're going at this from two different places. Are you two—" Clark hesitates, looking them over, and then takes a second to take a nice deep breath. "Do you two go by Midnighter and Apollo?"

The similarities are definitely there. Similar costume designs (the coat, the symbols, what is or isn't covered), similar looks... but there's differences as well: Apollo's hair is a major difference, and the man in front of him also just generally seems bigger.

But Clark supposes that's simply how alternate dimensions work.

"...Yeah," the Man—Midnighter, apparently—says. "Who the hell are you two supposed to be?"

Clark exchanges a brief look with Bruce, because the fact that they aren't recognizable is... concerning. It indicates a much greater level of deviation than they're used to seeing.

"I'm Superman," Clark says after a second, gesturing to each of them in turn. "That's Batman."

"Someone with a giant ego and a furry," Midnighter observes, and Clark watches the corner of Bruce's mouth twitch in his peripheral vision.

"M," Apollo says quietly. "Until we know what the situation is—"

"We _know_ what the situation is," Midnighter fires back. "Those fuckers—"

"I meant the situation here," Apollo says. "Don't play stupid, it's not a good look on you."

Clark is fairly sure the two are in serious danger of just _continuing to bicker,_ so he clears his throat loudly, drawing their attention.

"I think it's obvious you're from another dimension," he says, and Bruce grunts beside him. "We were tracking some strange energy readings when you appeared. I'm assuming your incursion was accidental?"

"No kidding," Midnighter grumbles. "What _I_ want to know is how you know who we are."

"You have counterparts here," Bruce says automatically. "Both of which operate as independent heroes, although we've worked together in the past."

"Independent?" Apollo asks. "We aren't a part of any team?"

"Not that we're aware of," Bruce says. "The two of you... work together."

He eyes them warily, his apprehension about the situation obvious.

"With any luck the Carrier will be here soon to pick us up," Apollo says. "Then we'll be out of your hair."

"The _what?"_

"No Authority here," Midnighter grunts. "Probably no Carrier here either."

"Wait, hold on," Clark says desperately. He feels like the conversation is running ahead of him, and he's losing track of what they're talking about. "There's several authorities here—"

 _"The_ Authority," Apollo corrects. "It's a team."

"We don't have that," Bruce says, and then because he can't play nice for even a second, adds, "sounds like the kind of authoritarian team we wouldn't be willing to work with."

Clark fights the urge to bury his face in his hands, or maybe just push Bruce off the roof so he can talk in peace.

"Oh, it is," Midnighter says, shooting Bruce a nasty smile.

"I think the more important detail is that yes, you are from another dimension, and that no, you don't have a way to get back, but... you have someone who can pick you up?" Clark says desperately.

"Yes," Apollo confirms. "Once the Carrier's tracked us, they should pop into the upper atmosphere of the planet and we can fly up to meet them."

"When's that going to happen?" Bruce asks, clearly hoping for _in the next few minutes._

"Who knows?" Midnighter says, offering only a shrug. "Things don't have a neat and orderly timetable when we're talking about hopping between dimensions."

"I'd estimate somewhere between a few hours and a few days," Apollo says. "Ideally, we'll stay near here. The farther we get from our incursion point, the harder it will be for the Carrier to track us."

"Which rules out the watchtower," Clark points out. "I'd consider _space_ to be fairly far."

"Space is far," Apollo confirms. "This is a..." He pauses, scanning the horizon. "...This is a major metropolitan area. We'll make do and stay out of your way until we get picked up."

"We're not letting you wander around on your own," Bruce says. "The watchtower—"

"B," Clark says, already tired of an argument that hasn't even happened. "The watchtower isn't going to work. Ensuring they can get home is priority number one, and the trade off of them being safely in the watchtower doesn't outweigh that."

"At least one of the two of you speaks sense," Midnighter grunts.

"We can't stick them in a hotel," Bruce says, exasperated.

Clark can't help it: he rolls his eyes, arms folding over his chest.

"If only we knew a large building with multiple spare bedrooms where they could take shelter for the time it takes for them to get picked up again... A place where no one would notice them..."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm not seeing another option," Clark points out. "I'm sure they're willing to play nice."

"Honestly, all I want right now is a shower," Apollo says. "We just spent almost eight hours fighting our way through a horde of monsters, and some hot food and a place to rest wouldn't be unwelcome either."

Despite his claims, the man looks downright flawless. There's not a hair out of place, the soft glow—

Clark makes himself stop thinking before he embarrasses himself.

"B?"

"It would compromise my identity."

"Yeah, I don't know what to tell you on that one," Midnighter says. "We definitely don't have a Batguy in our dimension."

"I think your counterpart, if they exist, isn't going to have an issue with that," Clark points out. "If you have another suggestion..."

There isn't really one, and they both know it. Putting them up in a safe-house isn't going to work, because Bruce can't just spend all his time watching them.

"I'll stay over," Clark adds, hoping to sweeten the deal. "I can afford to take a few days off work to make sure someone's around the manor."

"Manor," Midnighter mumbles to himself. "Sounds like a place with nice beds."

Apollo rolls his eyes.

"Sounds like it's decided," Clark says before anyone can second guess the agreement. "The batmobile—"

 _"Please_ tell me this guy doesn't have a car named _the Batmobile,"_ Midnighter says.

The corner of Clark's mouth twitches in response. "In his defense, it was named by a small child."

Bruce just growls.

"The point is, it won't be comfortable for four. I'll take Apollo in through the cave's flier entrance and meet you there, alright?"

"That's fine with me," Apollo says, his halo seeming to brighten as he lifts off the roof. Then he simply leans down, cupping Midnighter's face in his hands and leaning down to give him a kiss on the lips.

Bruce looks away. Clark can't quite bring himself to. It's the most natural thing in the world to them, and even as they break away Clark can't quite sort out his feelings on the matter.

It's not until they're on their way to the manor that Clark decides his most prominent feeling is simply _jealousy._


	2. Chapter 2

Their guests are clearly not impressed by Bruce's cave. Apollo's at least polite about it, looking things over with a scrutinizing eye in silence, but Midnighter makes no attempt to hide his amusement.

"Really?" He says almost the moment he climbs out of the Batmobile. "Your base is a cave? You're really trying to sell the bat aesthetic, aren't you?"

Bruce grunts, and Clark can only imagine the conversation they've been having (or _not_ having) on the way over.

"The manor's up above," Clark says. "Please don't leave the house while you're here. I'm not sure how things are in your world, but here, secrecy is important."

"We worked that out," Apollo says, only just managing to keep from looking genuinely amused.

Bruce is clearly unhappy as he guides them up the stairs, leading them down the guest wing to two of the larger bedrooms.

"We'll stay together," Midnighter says, flashing his teeth. Clark isn't entirely sure why—even if Midnighter and Apollo are a couple _here,_ that hardly means the same is true in any dimension—but keeps his mouth shut.

"Then this one," Bruce says, gesturing a bit farther down the hall. "The bed's larger."

"Thank you," Apollo says, corralling the obviously annoyed Midnighter into the room. "I know you don't want us wandering, so why don't you come check in tomorrow morning?"

Clark recognizes it as an obvious concession to Bruce's controlling tendencies, and he hopes that Bruce does as well.

"...I will," Bruce finally says, making no sign he's done any such thing. The moment they're in the room, Bruce sweeps down the hall, activating an array of security features in the hall that will alert him if they leave the room.

"...Please tell me you don't have cameras _in_ the room," Clark asks, suddenly alarmed by the possibility.

"Not _in_ the room," Bruce says, finally reaching up to pull his cowl off. "But everywhere else, yes."

Clark can live with that. Even if they're _generally_ familiar, the fact is that they're not the same people Bruce has worked with before. They're different, a parallel whose motivations are impossible to verify. If Bruce wants to be woken up if they leave their room, so be it.

"Shouldn't you tell Alfred...?"

Bruce grunts. "He's visiting family overseas."

Clark's sure that his look of horror says it all. The idea of Bruce in the manor taking care of himself is... difficult to imagine. What has he even been eating? Clark doesn't want to think about the state of the kitchen...

But Bruce's room, at the very least, is still clean. It's familiar territory to Clark, who's stayed the night more times than he can possibly count. All of his toiletries are there, tucked just out of sight in Bruce's bathroom for when he visits, and his pajamas are neatly folded in the drawer that's been spared just for his use.

It feels almost painfully domestic, and as Clark goes through the motions getting ready to bed it's hard not to think about the earlier argument.

"I still want to talk about people knowing about us," Clark says as he slides into bed beside Bruce. "I understand why it would be uncomfortable for you, but it's important to me."

Bruce grunts, but Clark isn't letting him get away with being monosyllabic during such an important conversation. "I mean it, Bruce. This is important to me."

"It just isn't plausible," Bruce says after a long stretch of silence. "It just isn't. If circumstances were different—if you were just a reporter and I was just a CEO—then we could take that step. But having two identities makes things more complicated. It makes it a risk. Why do you think that so few of us have relationships?"

"Ollie and Dinah are."

"They were involved before this. They didn't meet while on the team. That makes it harder."

"Hard isn't impossible, Bruce. We do the impossible regularly."

They lapse into silence again, and Clark hesitates before rolling over, reaching out to take Bruce's hand.

"I know you're only being firm on this because you're worried. But... if we weren't going to do things because they were safe, we wouldn't be members of the League. We'd never have gone out and tried to help people. We're not the sort of people who play things safe, Bruce."

He leans in, pressing a kiss to Bruce's temple, and after a moment Bruce's hand squeezes his own. He rolls, leaning against Clark, and Clark reaches up, instinctively wrapping an arm around Bruce's back to pull him closer.

"...We can talk about it more when they're gone," Bruce says. "A real conversation. This isn't just me putting it off."

"Thank you."

He leans down, pressing a kiss to Bruce's lips, and then lets himself relax with Bruce in his arms.

They wake hours later to the sound of Bruce's alarm going off. It never stops being impressive to Clark how fast Bruce can roll out of bed, pulling on a housecoat as he goes out the door. Clark follows, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he trails behind Bruce on the way to the guest wing.

To the surprise of literally no one, there's nothing really _going on._ It's just that their guests have apparently gotten tired of sitting in the guest room. They're both fully dressed (and from the looks of it, showered, although Apollo's just as pristine looking as he always is), and at the time Bruce and Clark turn the corner into the guest wing, in the process of inspecting the artwork on the walls.

"Oh good," Midnighter says without looking. "We were wondering if you'd died."

"We might have a bit of a time difference," Clark says, yawning widely as he stretches out. "It's only seven in the morning for us."

"We've been up for two hours," Apollo says, confirming his suspicions.

"You're probably hungry."

"We don't particularly need to eat," Apollo admits. "But food wouldn't be unwelcome."

"I'll make something," Clark volunteers. He's not willing to risk Bruce being in the kitchen any more than necessary, and Bruce apparently isn't willing to argue with him about _this_.

"I need to shower," he grunts. "And... contact work to let them know something came up." Clark can't decide if _contacting work_ is just a pretense or not. Bruce's actual appearances at Wayne Enterprises are all over the place, and if he has a consistent schedule, Clark's never managed to figure it out.

The kitchen's been left stocked (probably for his benefit) by Alfred, so it's simply a matter of pulling what he needs and starting to cook. He makes eggs and bacon, and then when there's not quite enough bacon he adds some sausage into the mix.

Apollo opts to help, which really just amounts to handling making toast.

"He's a real peach, isn't he?" Midnighter comments while they cook. He's taken a spot at the table, watching as Clark works while Apollo stands around waiting for the toaster to pop.

"Who, Bruce? He doesn't really like when unexpected things like this happens."

"Can't blame him for that," Apollo says. "If here is anything like it is back at home, _unexpected_ is a euphemism for _space aliens trying to kill everyone_ half the time."

"More or less," Clark agrees, starting to make plates for their guests.

"You not worried about grease?" Midnighter asks, watching as Clark cooks the bacon without any sort of protection. No apron. No shirt. Honestly, Clark hadn't given it any thought up until that point. In answer, he reaches down, touching the edge of the hot pan to demonstrate.

It's hot—he can feel the heat—but it doesn't really hurt. He simply taps it twice and goes back to cooking.

"Heat immunity, or generalized durability?" Apollo asks.

"More or less the same as you, assuming you're the same as this world's Apollo. Generalized durability, temperature resistance... our power sets are fairly similar, from what I understand, although you're a bit more blatantly solar powered."

"So you _are_ solar powered," Midnighter says, smirking as he does. "I thought so, but so late at night it was hard to tell."

"I think this is normally the point where I'd challenge you to an arm wrestle to see what kind of heat you're packing, but considering you're in the middle of making us breakfast I suppose I can pass," Apollo says, stepping up to retrieve the just-finished plates for him and Midnighter. So close, it's hard for Clark not to notice the seemingly ever-present faint ring of light around his head. It makes him wonder how he ever missed it in the first place, because his eyes are constantly drawn to it.

"...Do you always have that?" He asks, his eyes running along the edges of the halo.

And then it seems to blink out.

"Not always," Apollo says. "Is it an issue?"

"No, not at all," Clark says immediately. "I was just... curious."

"You're not the only one showing interest," Midnighter says, and the look he gives Clark is undeniably predatory. All of a sudden Clark is _very_ aware of the fact that he's standing shirtless in front of them. His face goes red, and he quickly looks away, busying himself with making food.

Thankfully, he doesn't have long to wait: Bruce arrives, his hair still damp, just as Clark's plating their food.

"Good timing," Clark says. "We were just getting ready to eat."

"You still need to shower."

He does. He really does. He can _feel_ the way Apollo is looking at him like it's a physical weight.

So he excuses himself before he can embarrass himself, promising to eat when he gets back.

He feels guilty as he showers, pulling the spare clothes he keeps at Bruce's place from the cupboard. Even though he hasn't done anything, he _feels_ like he has. Even if it was entirely innocent, he can't help but feel like he put himself on display.

"Clark?" Bruce calls, his voice cutting through the confusion, and Clark's head snaps up, turning to where he hears Bruce approaching from even before he leans into the bathroom. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," he says, earning himself a hard look from Bruce, who knows he's anything but. It takes him a second to compose his thoughts, putting them in order in an attempt to explain himself. "Did I ever tell you that I had a crush on... well, our world's Apollo?"

"You did not," Bruce says, although he doesn't look particularly surprised by that fact. "Because of how he looks?"

"And his powers," Clark admits. "He is... I only ever really dealt with him once, but the feeling of being..." He struggles for a moment, trying to find the words. "Of being _energized_ by him was interesting."

"Midnighter certainly wasn't keeping his interest in you hidden."

As concerned as he was about it, Bruce doesn't actually sound all that jealous, and after a moment of staring Clark decides that asking is probably better.

"...You don't mind?"

"We did talk... _briefly_ about bringing someone else in," Bruce points out, although Clark doesn't really agree. The conversation they had was a _very_ general conversation about potential options as far as kinks and hard nos went, and that's a very different sort of conversation than having a serious talk about... sharing.

"I don't want Midnighter touching you," Bruce says. "But Apollo is... less irritating. I think the two of you would look good together."

For a moment, Clark wonders if it's fair. Bruce is obviously just doing it for him, opening up to let Clark explore something that would otherwise be off limits.

But when he pays attention— _really_ pays attention—he can hear the way Bruce's heart is speeding up at the idea. The way his blood is rushing at the mental picture.

"...You _want_ to see how we'd look together," Clark observes, and the corner of Bruce's mouth twitches as if he's going to deny it. "You want to see us."

"You're solar powered," Bruce points out, "and he can project solar energy. The thought... had crossed my mind, yes."

"Only it could never happen. There's too many ethical concerns, never mind privacy, with _our_ Apollo and Midnighter..."

"The risks with this pair are minimal. Today, or tomorrow, or sometime soon they'll be going home. Whatever happens with them doesn't really matter. It's... something we can enjoy without worrying about the consequences."

Ah. There it is: Suddenly, Clark understands. As much as Bruce _does_ want to watch, it's also an apology. Bruce understands that he's asking Clark to give things up in exchange for their relationship. He understands that losing out on those things—on being able to tell the world they're involved, on being able to get married, on being able to have a family together—hurts Clark, and he's offering what he can as an apology.

Clark leans down, pulling Bruce into a soft, chaste kiss, and Bruce's breathing hitches ever so slightly.

"We haven't even talked to them about it," Clark points out. "They might not be interested."

"They are," Bruce says with absolute certainty. "You should have seen the way Apollo was checking out your arms when I arrived. And that's saying nothing of the way that Midnighter was looking at your ass."

The thought of being stared at like that is something else, but Clark is more than willing to take Bruce's word at face value when it comes to recognizing other people's reactions. It's simply one of the many, many things he's good at, and Clark wouldn't have it any other way.


	3. Chapter 3

They don't propose the idea right away. For one, eight in the morning seems like a bad time to suggest anything even vaguely sex related (Clark prefers to keep his dalliances firmly after hours), and for another, Clark _does_ end up having to go in to work.

"I can't stay," Clark apologizes desperately. "The reporter who was supposed to cover the press confrence is in the hospital, and I'm the only one who can get there in time."

"And how do they _know_ you're the only one who can get there in time?"

"Because I told them I was out of town, and stupidly told them I was going to be in New York City, and that's where they need a reporter."

Bruce rolls his eyes, but it's not as if there's much to be done. Clark's too reliable of an employee: if he suddenly _couldn't_ cover for what should only be a quick two hour affair, Perry would probably think he'd been abducted and replaced by aliens or something similarly alarming.

"I'll be back around dinner," Clark says. "I'll bring takeout." Apollo and Midnighter are lingering nearby, watching as Clark gets ready to go, and he turns to address them directly, desperate to deliver the most stern of warnings. "Don't eat anything he cooks you for lunch. The man can't make a _PB &J_."

"That's almost impressive," Apollo says, looking amused by the very idea.

"I'll handle food," Midnighter says in a rather offhand manner. Clark's not expecting much, but he also doesn't want house-guests starving in Wayne Manor because Bruce can't be bothered to learn how to cook.

Clark leans in, kissing Bruce goodbye like they always do, only to be interrupted by a low whistle.

"Oh thank god," Midnighter says, arms folded across his chest. "We spent the whole of last night debating whether you two were actually together, or just had the most blatant sexual tension in history."

Clark can _feel_ his ears going red. His face already is, and has been since the moment Midnighter wolf whistled at them.

"Not the _whole_ night," Apollo says, as if that makes it any better. "But we were wondering."

"We're together," Bruce says, somehow managing to growl the words out.

"I need to go," Clark says quickly. "But I'll see you all after I'm done."

"Assuming the Carrier hasn't shown up," Midnighter says.

As much as he should be happy at the idea, Clark really isn't, but he does his best not to let it show. Instead, he gives Bruce another quick peck on the cheek, excusing himself as fast as he can before someone catches on.

Two hours turns out to be closer to four, and by the time Clark makes it back to Gotham, he can't help but feel apprehensive. He hasn't heard anything from Bruce, but that doesn't _mean_ anything. It could be that he's been busy with work. It could be that too much has been happening for him to let Clark know about it. Maybe Midnighter and Apollo have already gone home, and he just missed it.

But the manor seems quiet as he arrives via the woods, and when he lets himself in and tries to listen, he can hear three heartbeats. Bruce is in his office, the _whump whump whump_ of his heart as familiar to Clark as the back of his own hands, while the unfamiliar sounds of Midnighter and Apollo seem to be located up in the library.

He drops the takeout in the kitchen, unsure if they've already eaten, and goes to find Bruce. 

"Everything alright? I'm sorry it took so long to get back, Perry—"

"It's fine," Bruce says immediately. "What you did wasn't an issue, so you don't have to apologize. I understand you have work."

The idea that everything was just _fine_ seems... unusual. "No issues?" Clark asks. "Nothing at all?"

"Midnighter made lunch," Bruce says, "and I spent most of the day on the phone. My sole contribution was getting them some clothes so they looked a little less out of place."

Not a bad idea. If they haven't gone back yet, it's entirely possible they might be there a few more days, and the last thing Bruce wants is someone seeing two men in superhero outfits walking around Wayne Manor.

"Do I want to know how you managed that?"

"You do not."

"There's food in the kitchen. I'm going to go grab them, and I'll meet you there, alright?"

Clark excuses himself and finds that Bruce has done a fairly good job. Midnighter and Apollo are finally out of their costumes, wearing clothes that look much more comfortable. They've got nearly identical black pants on, but where Apollo has a _very_ sheer looking white shirt, Midnighter's dressed in dark colors that suit him much better. Clark also realizes it's the first time he's seen Midnighter's face, the faux-hawk his cowl hid almost as surprising to Clark as the sharpness of his cheekbones.

"Sorry for being late," he apologizes as he pops his head around the corner. "Did you already eat?"

"Not yet," Apollo says automatically. "I believe you promised us takeout."

"I did," Clark confirms with a smile. "Best Thai food in the Northeast."

"We'll have to see how it stacks up to _our_ favorite Thai place," Apollo says, leaving the book he was apparently reading on the side table as he gets up to head to the kitchen.

The food is delicious, but Midnighter insists their favorite Thai place is better. To Clark's immense surprise, he even seems to be getting along alright with Bruce, which is something he's sure this world's Midnighter could never quite manage. It makes Clark wonder if they were staying—actually staying, rather than just temporary guests—if maybe they couldn't have been friends.

He likes the idea of having another couple they could do things with. Not just _sex_ of course, but... dates. Just like Bruce said, they _really_ don't have many friends who are couples.

Apollo even seems like the kind of person his parents—

Oh _no._

"Oh my god," Clark murmurs, and all three people at the table turn to stare at him in confusion. "I— we never even—"

"Breathe," Bruce says automatically. "What is it?"

"We never even asked your names! This whole time we've just been calling you _Apollo_ and _Midnighter,_ but— You don't even know our names, and—"

"Clark," Bruce interrupts, "it isn't a big deal. I doubt it even—"

"How can it not be a big deal?" Clark mutters. "We were— And we—" He can't even figure out what he's trying to say, but his embarrassment only gets worse when he risks a glance over and finds that Midnighter and Apollo are giving him _very_ amused looks.

"...Sorry," Clark mutters, going even redder. "I'm— My name is Clark Kent."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitches, but he goes along with it anyway.

"Bruce Wayne. Bruce is fine. Having said that, I'm assuming that you have a similar history to _this_ world's version of yourselves."

"Who I'm assuming _also_ go almost exclusively by Midnighter and Apollo," Midnighter comments.

"You go by M, sometimes," Bruce offers, and Clark glances between them in confusion.

"Midnighter and Apollo _are_ our names," Apollo clarifies for him. "We don't have secret identities."

The idea throws Clark for a loop, and it takes him a few seconds of confused blinking to realize what he means.

"So you're not... I don't know, Arthur who goes by Apollo... you're just Apollo?"

Apollo nods, and Clark honestly can't stop himself from asking.

_"Please_ tell me you aren't _the_ Apollo."

Apollo tips his head back and laughs, and rather than feeling embarrassed Clark really just feels a flood of relief.

"He's pretty godly," Midnighter says with a laugh of his own, "but he's not a god. If it helps, you can call me M if the name's too long."

"Apollo's fine."

Clark has a lot of questions—mostly about how the whole _not having a secret identity_ thing works—but he gets the impression that right then would probably be a bad time to ask them.

Maybe later.

"So," Midnighter says abruptly. "Maybe I'm completely off the mark, or maybe I'm not, but the impression I'm getting from the two of you is that you're just as eager to screw around as we are."

Clark's not sure he'd have described it as _screwing around,_ but the sentiment is true enough. That doesn't change the way that his face goes red at how Midnighter said _screwing around,_ though.

"I'm going to go get us something to drink," Bruce says, all but excusing himself to let things sort themselves out. Clark isn't surprised: Bruce _does_ have a tendency to adapt better when he's coming into things late.

"Do we need to lay out rules?" Apollo asks, raising an eyebrow.

They probably should.

No, scratch that: they _absolutely_ should. But right then Clark's brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders, because Apollo punctuates the question by sitting down on the couch, and... well, stretching out. Practically putting himself on display.

He is undeniably a _very_ attractive man.

"Why don't you take a seat," he says, his voice dark and husky, and Clark feels a shiver run down his spine. He's lost track of where Midnighter is, and it takes him a second—his eyes still firmly glued to Apollo—to locate M in the room with the rest of his senses. He's over by the fireplace, and he seems to be doing nothing other than watching.

Clark goes to sit on the couch beside Apollo, but Apollo has other ideas. He reaches out, catching Clark's wrist, and then pulls him a bit closer. The strength applied feels gentle, but for a moment Clark lets himself wonder who would _actually_ win.

But he doesn't dwell on it. Instead, he lets himself be pulled along, falling forward as Apollo arranges their position to be advantageous to him. His knee's between Clark's legs, keeping him from standing up straight, and with only the slightest bit of pressure Clark finds himself falling forward.

He only barely catches himself, the position emphasizing something he hadn't paid much attention to: how _big_ Apollo is. Clark is by no metric a small man. He's an inch taller than Bruce and several inches taller than the average man, and yet Apollo has to have at _least_ a foot over him. Sprawled across the larger man with Apollo's knee between his legs, he finds himself momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer size difference. Apollo is broader and taller and too big by any (and every) metric, and of course that's the exact moment Bruce decides to return to the room.

Clark turns his head to look, but Apollo's hand catches his chin, turning his face so that he's looking directly at Apollo. And then, in full view of Bruce (and Midnighter, although Clark's not paying nearly as much attention to him right then), kisses him right on the lips.

Clark forgets what he was doing. Up close, Apollo seems pleasantly warm, beyond what a normal human feels like. His lips are soft, and it's obvious to Clark that Apollo's had a great deal of experience, because he kisses like he's a professional. The knee he's straddling comes up slightly, and Clark makes a choked noise through the kiss, hips shifting forward to escape the awkward pressure between his legs.

The couch beside them sags, and out of the corner of his eye Clark can see that Bruce has taken a seat. He's got a glass of wine, and he seems to be only half paying attention to them at best in favor of starting up a conversation with M.  
  


  


The realization that he actually _wants_ Bruce to watch hits him with unexpected intensity. It's not just enough for him to be doing things with Apollo: he wants Bruce there. He wants Bruce observing. For that matter, he wants Bruce _directing,_ but that seems a step too far for something that he's effectively fumbling his way through.

Clark takes the initiative, pushing himself up onto his toes for leverage as he slides up, hands coming up to wrap around Apollo's shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair.

Even his hair is soft. It's like a _cloud,_ and Clark simply adds it to the pile of things about Apollo which are absolutely ridiculous.

There's a pleasant buzz when he returns to kissing Apollo that wasn't quite there before, and it takes him a moment to register that it's probably his halo. So close, he can feel the sun's warmth radiating off of Apollo, and the feeling it gives him is almost giddy.

Apollo's hand runs down Clark's side before running across his hip and up onto his back. He's almost—but not quite—cupping Clark's ass, and Clark's face goes even redder with the realization that he wants Apollo just as much as Apollo wants him.

"They're a pretty pair, aren't they?" Clark hears Midnighter say, and there's a slight surge, Apollo's halo growing more intense at the praise. It's not even directed at him—Midnighter's clearly talking to Bruce—but apparently the attention feels satisfying just the same.

Clark kisses him again, wanting that attention for himself, and Apollo's other hand comes up, resting lightly on Clark's knee. Clark's sure that Apollo must have noticed the start of Clark's erection, but he doesn't draw attention to it, focusing primarily on Clark's head and neck as he breaks the kiss just long enough to duck his head and nip at the side of Clark's neck.

Clark realizes that he's most definitely missing things. The fire's lit, but he has no memory of Bruce lighting it. The wine in their glasses is almost gone. He's so distracted by what's happening that he's having a hard time focusing, so it comes as an immense surprise when Clark suddenly feels a third hand run up his side.

His head twists and he finds Midnighter standing there, something dark and predatory in his eyes, and whatever Clark was going to say (even he couldn't be sure) dies in his throat when Apollo nips at his neck again.

He lets out a little gasp instead, the pressure pleasant and absolutely not unwanted.

Bruce hasn't actually done anything so far. He's still sitting on the couch no more than a few feet away, watching the three of them with clear interest. Clark wants to invite him, but it feels wrong somehow; Bruce already knows he can join at any time, and inviting him explicitly feels like forcing his hand in some way.

So he lets Bruce watch as Midnighter drags his hand up Clark's side, making him shiver. He lets him watch as Apollo reaches up, taking Clark's chin in his hand again and pulling him down to kiss him again, hot and wet.

Clark feels absolutely showered with attention, and he's struggling to keep his focus. The fact that his erection has gone from _starting_ to _full mast_ in record time isn't helping things, and his constant awareness of Bruce's presence is doing things to him that he knows he's going to have to examine later.

But not then.

Not with him trapped between Apollo and Midnighter the way he is.

"I bet he has quite an ass under these pants," Midnighter says, his voice husky, and he reaches down, hooking his thumbs into the band of Clark's pants as his hands circle around to the front.

It's Apollo who voices the thought in a way that punctures through the haze in Clark's mind.

"We're going to take your clothes off," Apollo says. It isn't phrased as a question, but it feels like one, so Clark bobs his head. He's rewarded with more attention, Apollo's kisses trailing off to be feather-light as Midnighter undoes Clark's pants, pulling them back with practiced movements.

Without even stopping kissing him, Apollo's hands occupy themselves with the buttons of Clark's shirt, popping each button open one by one to reveal the skin underneath.

Within a minute, Clark abruptly realizes that he's in his underwear and absolutely nothing else, and his underwear isn't even doing a half decent job of hiding anything, his erection tenting the fabric rather blatantly. The fact that both Apollo and Midnighter are still fully clothed makes a shiver run down his spine. He feels vulnerable in a way he almost never does, vulnerable in a way that only Bruce has really made him feel before, and when Midnighter leans down, trailing bites down the column of Clark's spine, the noise Clark makes is downright incoherent.

"You should see his ass, Apollo," Midnighter says, his hands reaching down to cup it through the fabric of Clark's underwear. "I was right, the damn thing looks like it's sculpted from marble."

Midnighter's hands shift up, his fingers dipping under the band of Clark's underwear, and then as fast as Clark can process, they're already sliding down. He's forced to shift to keep from ripping them, and when Midnighter finishes pulling them off he holds them up like they're a prize he's just won.

Clark feels very, very exposed, and only the gentle affection—the soft touches and tender kisses—of Apollo is letting him be even half as calm as he is.

"Bruce," he says anyway, the word leaping to his lips unbidden.

"I'm here," Bruce says, but he doesn't move. He's still just watching, and even from a glance Clark can tell how hard he is, how impossibly turned on Bruce seems to be.

Midnighter drops down to his knees behind him, and Clark gets very little warning before he feels hot breath against his rear. He makes a choked noise, instinctively jerking forward, and Apollo's hands drop down, one resting on Clark's hip to hold him still while the other, without pretense, wraps around his cock.

Clark can feel that Apollo's hard too, his still clothed erection pressing against Clark's leg, but he's having a hard time focusing on that between the way Midnighter spreads his cheeks with his hands and the way Apollo drags his thumb across the head of Clark's cock.

He feels overwhelmed, and the fact that Bruce is just _watching_ is driving him up a wall. He doesn't understand how Bruce has that kind of self control. If their positions were swapped—if Bruce was naked and squirming in front of him—he doesn't think he'd be able to hold back.

"Bruce!" Clark whines as Midnighter presses his face in, the hint of stubble on his face scratching at sensitive flesh. Midnighter's tongue drags across Clark's hole, and only Apollo's fingers digging in keeps him from jerking forward, away from the sensation.

"I would almost say he's asking you for help," Apollo says, punctuating the sentence by dragging his fingers down Clark's cock ever so slowly.

It's not enough to get him off. It's never going to be enough to get him off. The feeling of it is slowly building, but the speed isn't there. Clark's already wound up, so hard his cock was dripping precum before he was even naked, and when Midnighter stops messing around and simply _goes_ for it he lets out another whine, sagging forward against Apollo for support.

And then, at last, Bruce is there. He's standing just behind Apollo, leaning over the couch, and his fingers trail along Clark's cheek before he gently cups his chin in his hand.

"Let yourself enjoy it," Bruce says, his voice soft. "You don't have to think about me."

"I always think about you," Clark says, and the moment is ruined by Midnighter pressing his tongue past Clark's hole, making his entire body jerk forward again.

Midnighter knows what he's doing. He knows just the right way to lick, just the right way to move. Clark feels like he's having an out of body experience when Midnighter _really_ gets going, and Apollo laughs, his entire body shaking under Clark.

"He's good at that, isn't he?"

Clark doesn't trust himself to speak, so he simply nods. Midnighter is _very_ good at what he's doing, and Clark's forced to revise his line of thought about not being able to cum from the minimalist handjob Apollo's giving him. The handjob, he realizes, isn't even the point. It's just a way of keeping Apollo's hand busy as he plays with Clark's cock, giving Midnighter time to go to work.

"Bruce," Apollo says, casual as can be. "I bet he'd love to suck your cock right now."

Clark certainly wasn't thinking it, but right then he's downright _desperate_ for it. He wants it, his mouth falling open, and Bruce's eyes go wide with surprise as Clark tries to lean forward to mouth at Bruce's crotch.

"Alright," he says "Just— just give me a moment."

In those moments, he's genuinely considering simply tearing Bruce's clothes off. The only thing keeping him from doing so is not the fact that Bruce would be irritated at Clark ruining (yet _another_ ) tailored shirt, but instead his current position. He's hardly at liberty to do any ripping at all, sandwiched as he is between Midnighter and Apollo.

It feels like forever as Bruce undoes his pants, drawing his cock out—already hard, of course—and moving forward to offer it to Clark. The position means that he's basically leaning over Apollo's shoulder, which would be awkward save for the fact that Apollo simply leans over and licks the offered cock as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

too

Clark feels a surge of jealousy and leans forward, catching the tip of Bruce's cock in his mouth and sucking hard. Bruce makes a small grunt, but his attempt to be stoic doesn't last as Clark dips forward.

Apollo is more than willing to cooperate with him though. He leans down, sucking one of Bruce's balls into his mouth, and Clark has to be careful with the way he bobs just to keep from bumping the other man. Bruce's hands end up tangled in Clark and Apollo's hair, one each, and after a little bit of back and forth they manage to find a more collaborative rhythm between the three of them.

He's so focused on making sure Bruce is enjoying himself that he momentarily loses track of what's happening behind him, and Midnighter catches on to that fact, redoubling his efforts in a way that catches Clark off guard.

It's too much. Clark whines around the cock in his mouth, his entire body trembling as he reaches up, squeezing Bruce's hip to try and warn them.

"He's—"

"We're not idiots," Midnighter pauses just long enough to say, and then Apollo stops playing idly with Clark's cock and actually starts jerking him off and that's all it takes.

Clark goes tumbling over the edge, surrounded on all sides by warm bodies. Everything seems to blur together as he spills across Apollo's hand and shirt, and Apollo reaches up, tangling his fingers into Clark's hair as he pulls him back off Bruce's cock.

"Let me," he says, and then gets to work making sure that Bruce isn't far behind him.

Clark feels absolutely boneless as he sprawls out on top of Apollo, watching as Apollo works Bruce's cock. Bruce is making more noise than usual, and it's obvious to Clark that he's even more turned on than he normally is as well. It doesn't take more than a minute or two before Bruce lets out a high pitched whine, and Apollo leans in, sucking him all he way down to the root as Bruce cums down his throat.

Clark wishes he'd taken a picture, because the sight isn't one he wants to forget.

"How are we doing this?" Midnighter says, and Clark suddenly realizes that, to his horror (and immense embarrassment), neither Midnighter nor Apollo has actually finished. Both of them are obviously still turned on _and_ fully dressed, and Clark feels... Well, he'd be perfectly happy going to bed right then, even if he does have the stamina to manage.

Apollo's hand runs down Clark's side, running over his ass before his fingers press lightly against Clark's hole. He feels wet and sloppy, all loosened up from Midnighter's attention, and feeling Apollo's finger dipping inside is enough to make him let out a whine of frustration. All of a sudden he feels very, _very_ empty, and he doesn't want to be.

"It would be a shame to let this go to waste," Apollo says. "Assuming you two are still up for it?"

"We're up for it," Clark blurts, and then glances up to Bruce, aware he's just answered for the two of them. "I'm up for it."

"We're both up for it," Bruce corrects. "Although I'll need a few minutes at least. Not all of us have superhuman stamina."

"Why don't Clark and I make use of all that stretching you did," Apollo says, "and you can work Midnighter open at the same time? He doesn't need all that much preparation, but he still needs _some."_

The mental image of Bruce fucking Midnighter is one Clark isn't ever going to forget. He wants to see it. He wants it burned into his retinas, the mental image too appealing for words. He can barely picture it, but he so desperately wants to be able to.

Apollo's finger presses inside without warning, and Clark gasps, jerking forward. There's not really anywhere to go, and once the surprise is past, it isn't as if it's a big deal or anything. It doesn't _hurt,_ and he's so relaxed and already worked open that Apollo can simply press a second finger in and meet more or less no resistance.

"How do you feel about riding me?" Apollo asks him, mouthing at the crook of Clark's neck.

"I'd like that."

"You'd like that because you want to watch," Apollo says, and Clark doesn't argue because he's right. He _does_ want to watch. He's already half watching right then, entranced by the way Bruce is working his fingers into Midnighter, stretching him out bit by bit.

Clark is familiar with the way Bruce's fingers feel. He knows how much Midnighter must be enjoying it, and feels a stab of envy that is only resolved by the addition of a third finger. He rocks his hips, letting out a whine of frustration, and then plants his hands on Apollo's chest.

"You shouldn't have clothes," he says firmly. "Why are you still _dressed?"_

Apollo doesn't have an answer for him, but he's happy to disrobe just the same. Clark has a front row seat to the show as Apollo withdraws his hands (Clark doesn't want to think about how empty that makes him feel) and gets to work removing his clothes. They're all dropped to the side, and when Clark risks a glance away he's amused to realize that Midnighter is the neater of the two, his clothes carefully folded.

Or maybe Midnighter's just taking his time with it because he knows it's bothering Bruce, who Clark knows from experience can get undressed inside of thirty seconds.

"Eyes on me," Apollo says, and Clark drags his attention away from Bruce and Midnighter and back to the veritable god in front of him. His hands come up, resting on Clark's thighs as Clark finally seats himself in Apollo's lap. There's something very gratifying about seeing that he's managed to get a rise out of Apollo, and he shifts his body so that his own cock rests just beside Apollo's.

Apollo seems to catch on without Clark even saying anything, because he reaches out, wrapping his hands around the pair of them and giving them a squeeze.

"Lube?"

Lube. Clark's relaxed and worked open, but he's not _that_ relaxed and worked open, so it's a relief when Midnighter proceeds to lob some lube (thankfully in a bottle) at the pair of them. Apollo catches it out of the air as Clark leans back, and then he carefully uncaps the bottle, drizzling it over them.

Clark's always sort of liked the feel of lube on his skin, but it's not something he normally talks about. He rocks his hips forward, enjoying the feeling of it, and then makes himself take a deep breath, lifting himself up. He can't drag it out. He wants Apollo _inside_ him, and Apollo seems happy to oblige. It's easier than it should for Clark to find the right positioning, the head of Apollo's cock pressing against his hole.

Apollo's hands provide only the slightest bit of pressure, and that's all it takes. The head pops inside, and Apollo doesn't let up, pressing Clark slowly down onto him without pause. It's slow and relentless, pushing deeper and deeper, and midway down Clark lets out a whine that he can't stop himself from making.

"Bruce," Clark chokes, and before he even has the time to be appropriately mortified Apollo lets out a laugh, refusing to stop as he pulls Clark down.

"I don't mind," he says. "We both know who you're thinking of."

Clark does what he can to stay in the moment, despite Apollo's reassurances that he doesn't mind. Bruce is Bruce, and even if he _is_ the love of Clark's life it feels particularly insulting to say someone else's name. By the time Clark reaches the bottom though, his thighs pressed against Apollo's hips, Clark doesn't have the brainpower required to even keep that in mind anymore.

Apollo is big. He's a big guy, so it makes sense, but he feels even bigger now that he's inside, his cock buried in Clark. He's big enough that only the slightest bit of movement is enough to rub against Clark's prostate, and when Apollo first tries to move Clark lets out a whine, grabbing his wrists and trying to make him be still.

"Just— Just let me adjust," he begs, and Apollo laughs, deep and throaty, and leans up to trail kisses down the column of Clark's throat.

The brief pause lets him glance towards Bruce and Midnighter, and what he sees he doesn't think he's ever going to forget. It's the sort of image that is going to be an excellent companion on lonely nights, but also the sort of one he's liable to remember suddenly and without warning in the middle of workplace meetings. Bruce is just finishing up working Midnighter open and is lining himself up when Clark looks over. Bruce makes eye contact—only for a second—and then takes that as the perfect excuse to get on with it.

Bruce snaps his hips forward and Midnighter lets out a sharp exhale, biting his lip to keep himself under control. Unlike Clark, he doesn't ask for Bruce to pause, so Bruce doesn't, moving almost immediately into a steady pattern. Bruce knows exactly what to do, and while it's obvious to Clark that Midnighter doesn't want to show how much he's enjoying it... well, he is. Clark can see it in the quirk of his head, in the way he bites at his lips.

"They make a good pair, don't they?" Apollo says, his hands coming up to brush along Clark's jaw. Clark's still sitting on him unmoving, but he's pretty sure he adjusted enough to manage.

"I'm going to start moving," Clark says, giving Apollo some warning before he finally lifts his hips. When he does, he wonders if maybe he _didn't_ spend enough time adjusting, because Apollo's cock pulling out of him feels downright overwhelming, his entire body shivering as he does.

Clark bites at his lip as he presses back down. Lifting his own weight to ride isn't the hard part—he's plenty strong enough for that—but the sensation of Apollo inside him is nearly overwhelming. Really, Clark's having a hard time figuring out how Midnighter even manages it regularly, because Clark can't even _imagine_ adjusting to something of Apollo's size. It's something he's sure he'd always have to take slowly and carefully, and as enjoyable—because it _is_ enjoyable—riding him is, it's a bit like having some cake: fun at the time, but not something you want to be doing every day.

Not that he gets to do Bruce every day, but he'd like to.

"Good," Apollo says, his hands helping guide Clark up and down. "You have quite the ass."

Clark goes pink. He's pretty sure he should say something in return, but he doesn't trust his mouth to actually say anything that's both coherent _and_ sexy. If he speaks, it's likely to be something stupid like _you too_ as if Apollo's ass is what he's interested in right then.

Better to keep his mouth shut and let his body do the talking. He's more confident in that, more sure that the sway of his hips will tell Apollo just how much he's enjoying it.

He isn't the only one. Despite his earlier silence, Midnighter's getting louder and louder as time goes on. First it was grunts, and then it upgrades to a full on groan, followed by a quiet _oh fuck_ as Bruce pounds into him. Bruce isn't being gentle about it, even though Midnighter's far from damage immune the way Clark himself is. Clark supposes it isn't going to do any actual damage, but the noises coming out of the pair of them are something else.

Clark likes the noises. He's pretty sure he could get off from _just_ the noises, because Midnighter is a lot more vocal than he has any right to be now that he's warmed up, and the sound of Bruce's hips hitting Midnighter's ass...

If Clark wasn't already hard, he would be then.

Apollo's hand reaches up, tangling in Clark's short hair as he pulls his head down, dragging him into a kiss. It requires a bit of bending to manage, but Clark's all too happy for the excuse to pause. He can feel his entire body twitching around Apollo's cock, and he knows if he pushes himself much faster he's going to cum long before anyone else does.

He doesn't want that. He wants them all too... well, maybe all of them cumming together is a bit of a pipe dream, but he at the very least doesn't want to be done well before anyone else.

Clark doesn't get a choice. Apollo reaches up, wrapping his hand around Clark's cock, and a few strokes later as Clark whines a protest he's going tipping over the edge, cumming into Apollo's hand as his entire body clenches down on him.

He means to say a word—probably Apollo's name—but doesn't have the brainpower to manage it.

Apollo reaches up, resting a hand on Clark's cheek, and then leans up a bit more to kiss him again.

Clark mumbles something that's definitely not coherent. He feels glazed and wrung out in a way that he doesn't normally, and in the end he simply sinks down bonelessly, turning his head to watch.

Midnighter's no longer on his hands and knees, his back arched to show off the muscles of his chest in sharp definition. Bruce's hand is in his hair, tugging his head back, and Bruce hasn't relented at all, fucking into him with a level of force that Clark would describe as ferocious.

"They're nice to look at, aren't they?" Apollo says. "Midnighter's enjoying this more than I expected."

Clark curls against Apollo's chest, watching the pair of them. He's _very_ aware of the fact that Apollo is both still hard and still inside him, and after a minute or two he makes an effort to rock his hips down, even if he feels oversensitive.

"You don't have to," Apollo says. "I know I have more stamina than the average person—"

"So do I," Clark points out. "I can manage."

It takes a bit longer for him to get hard again, but not being hard doesn't stop him from doing what he can to make sure Apollo enjoys himself.

It's more two-sided the second time around, and Apollo grabs his hips, helping Clark ride his cock with obvious enthusiasm. Clark lets himself zone out, focusing _only_ on what he's feeling. On the way Apollo rocks his hips. On the noises Midnighter and Bruce are making. It's so easy to slip into the perfect mindset, thinking about nothing other than how he good he feels rocking down on Apollo's cock and how much Bruce sounds like he's enjoying things.

His second orgasm doesn't catch him off guard. It's a rising tide on the horizon, a wave that he chooses to stand by and let wash over him. When he cums, it's a long, prolonged thing, drawn out of him by Apollo's expert movements. He wails as he finishes, still riding Apollo as he does, and gets caught off guard when Apollo snaps his hips up, breaking the rhythm.

He finds out why very quickly. Apollo's grip on him tightens, and Clark can feel Apollo's entire body go tense beneath him as he finishes himself.

Clark doesn't quite pass out or anything as dramatic as that, but he definitely loses focus. Apollo cradles him in his arms, and the feeling of being held by someone so much _bigger_ than he is feels downright surreal.

"Tired?" Bruce asks him, slipping into view without Clark even turning his head. Clark nods, deeply weary despite all his super-stamina, but does manage to lean up, kissing Bruce when he leans in.

"I'll manage."

"I need a shower," Midnighter complains. He's already up on his feet, his hand dipping back in an apparent attempt to keep himself from dripping on the floor, and he looks so _debauched_ that Clark finds himself blushing again anyway, drawing out of his post-orgasm haze.

"We should all head to bed," Bruce says. "As... _enjoyable_ as that was, at least some of us have work in the morning."

"Going to hit the shower then," Midnighter says, stretching out and putting himself on display in a _very_ obvious way. "See you guys in the morning."

Without any sort of modesty, he simply turns away and starts heading back towards the guestroom. Apollo shoots the pair of them an apologetic glance, and Clark carefully climbs off him. He feels bizarrely empty, and his legs don't feel quite right, but Apollo seems just fine as he excuses himself, going after his lover.

"...To bed?" Bruce says, looking down at Clark. He can't help but feel like he was the only one really affected by things, and he's happy for a chance to rest and think things through.

"To bed," he confirms.

Maybe things will make a bit more sense in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Clark wakes the following morning long before Bruce does and ends up lying awake in the massive bed Bruce calls his own, staring at the ceiling. The morning silence gives him time to think, and a part of him desperately wishes that it didn't. Thinking about it, no matter how he tries not to let it, always leads to the same conclusion.

So when Bruce stirs beside him and Clark hears his heart speed up as he comes to, Clark makes himself vocalize what he's been thinking.

"...Bruce?" He asks quietly. "Can we talk?"

Bruce grumbles a bit, but Clark knows he's more awake then he's acting, and even if he wasn't Clark goes ahead and waits for Bruce to finish shifting around, when his eyes finally open and he joins Clark in staring at the ceiling.

"About?"

"About yesterday."

There's silence in the room, and Clark knows it will continue unless he interrupts it, so he does.

"I really... really enjoyed yesterday. Not just the sex— I mean, I enjoyed the sex, but the sex isn't the point of it— and anyway, I just... I want that. I want... us to be seen as a couple."

Bruce seems to go paler and paler as Clark talks, but right as he finishes—right as he says he wants to be a couple—Bruce makes a small choked noise which escalates to a full blown cough as he tries to pull himself together.

"Clark," he says, voice strained. "Could you not have delivered that message another way?" He actually sits up to say it, and to Clark's immense confusion turns to glower at him.

"...What?" Clark asks, baffled.

"I thought you were— Clark, we just had a four-way with another couple and then you hit me the following morning with something that sounded suspiciously like _I want that all the time!"_

Right then Clark's just happy he didn't have anything to drink, because he'd have absolutely choked it up.

"No!" He protests desperately. "No— god no, I don't want that. What happened last night was... it was like spending a night in a hotel. It's a fun trip, but no one wants to _live_ in a hotel."

"You aren't exactly doing a great job of this," Bruce says dryly. "I think you just said I'm not as fancy as Apollo and Midnighter."

"You _know_ what I'm saying," Clark says, propping himself up on his elbow. "You're... you're home to me, Bruce. You're the place I want to be when everything wraps up. You're the person I... that I go home too."

He's sure he's blushing, but he tries not to let it bother them.

"What _were_ you trying to ask then?" Bruce asks, and Clark has to take a second to clear his throat, pulling himself together in a desperate bid to explain himself.

"When they talked about the two of us being together, I was... I was very happy, Bruce. The feeling of being recognized, of someone knowing we're together was... I want that. I want that feeling all the time. They're public about the fact that they're dating, and I think we should too."

"It isn't as easy for us," Bruce says, his face falling. "If either of our identities were together, it could put the other part at risk. It's not as easy as just saying we're together."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take, Bruce. I know it's not going to be easy, and I know there's a risk to it, but there's a risk every time we step outside our door. Every mission we take. Every person we speak to. We live with those risks, and I know we can bare that risk together."

He knows it's a hard thing to ask. He knows that Bruce is a thousand times more paranoid than he is and a thousand times more security conscious. Part of that comes from powers: if something happens in Metropolis at the planet, Clark can be back there in a flash. If Bruce is at work and something happens at the manor, he has to find his way across the city as fast as possible.

"I... Clark—"

Whatever Bruce is going to say gets lost by the sound of the bedroom door slamming open.

"Bruce, did you—" Dick yells as he comes flying in, only to freeze completely at the sight of Bruce and Clark sitting upright in bed in the middle of a conversation. Clark isn't even sure Dick registers the _conversation_ part of things, because he makes a pained noise and proceeds to practically fall back out of the room, yelling apologies over his shoulder.

Clark buries his face in his hands. It's not like it's the first time he's been shirtless around Dick (they _have_ gone swimming before at more than one League-and-associates event), but there's a very different feeling to being around someone in swim trunks and being around someone because you're naked in their sort-of-father's bed.

"...We should probably deal with that," Bruce grumbles, getting out of bed to go get dressed.

Clark doesn't disagree.

* * *

By the time they've made it downstairs, Dick has apparently gotten over the worst of his embarrassment and decided to not bring it up. Clark's pretty sure the _not bringing it up_ part is key to the whole process, because the moment he rounds the corner with Bruce, Dick launches right into conversation, refusing to let them get a word in edgewise where they might have apologized for what he did or didn't see when he rudely slammed his way into Bruce's bedroom without even knocking.

"Midnighter was here and you didn't even tell me? I know he's not _my_ Midnighter, but I still think our firm nemesister relationship should transcend universal boundaries and warrant you giving me a call."

Midnighter's sitting by the kitchen island with Apollo standing over his shoulder. He looks _deeply_ unimpressed, possibly by the use of the word _nemesister,_ while Apollo looks amused by how energetic Dick is about the whole thing.

"So I assume you don't know Dick at all?" Clark asks, and Midnighter shakes his head.

"Nope. We exchanged some information with tall dark and broody over there and established that no member of the Justice League exists in our world, and your world doesn't have _most_ of ours."

"Midnighter and I's counterparts appear to be anomalies," Apollo says. "It's an interesting point of deviation, one way or another."

"I just think it's weird," Dick says, turning away to dig through the fridge for food. "M thinks it's pretty weird too."

Clark swears that he can _hear_ the record scratch in Bruce's brain.

"You _told this universe's Midnighter?"_

Dick pulls back from the fridge just long enough to give Bruce a scandalized look.

"B, it's _his_ alternate universe self. Of course I told him. He said he'd drop by and say hi, he was just finishing some things up."

Oh dear. If Bruce was doing alright with the situation before, he isn't right then. He looks like he's a moment away from popping a blood vessel, and Clark can't entirely blame him.

"You invited Midnighter _to the manor?"_

"He _did_ help save Damian's life," Dick points out matter of factly. "He'll be discrete about it."

"Call him and tell him—"

Clark doesn't get to hear what Bruce is going to say (although he suspects it's simply not to come), because the manor's security system starts screeching a moment later. Clark cringes, reaching up to cover his ears, and Bruce swears up a storm, marching over to disable it.

"Pretty sure that's him," Dick says, digging into a container of yogurt.

Bruce grumbles under his breath as he does what he can to figure out where the second Midnighter has arrived, but he doesn't need to bother, because Clark can hear them coming down the steps.

"You missed," a voice that's almost the exact same as Apollo is saying. "How could you miss that jump?'

"It's not like I've gone running around in here before," M replies. Clark's already drifting towards the kitchen doorway, and the newly arrived Midnighter and Apollo are doing the same.

"Oh look, Grayson wasn't kidding," M says as the pair arrive in the kitchen doorway. Clark can tell it's driving Bruce up a wall that the meeting is happening _in his kitchen_ before he's even had his coffee, but right then it seems like there's precious little he can do about it. "Woah, _hair."_

While the pairs are largely recognizable as each other, there's also plenty of differences. Their world's Apollo has short blond hair, a sharp contrast to the long white hair of the new arrival. Midnighter is _largely_ the same, and right then Clark's just happy that the new arrivals are wearing street clothes, making it painfully obvious which is which.

"This is going to get confusing," Dick points out before jabbing a finger towards the ones he's more familiar with. "They don't seem like they use the same names, so you guys can just be M and Andrew, alright?"

"Andrew?" Apollo says, wrinkling his nose. "Is that your... actual name?"

"That's my actual name," Andrew confirms, squinting a bit more heavily at Apollo. "Is it _not_ yours?"

"As nice as this all is," Bruce says, throwing his hands in the air, "could you not all do this in the living room? I'd like to get some food."

He seems to have resigned himself to the fact that it _is_ going to happen, like it or not, although Clark's absolutely sure that Bruce wishes it wouldn't.

Another very different alarm starts to scream somewhere off in the house, and Bruce lets out a groan, jogging towards it. Dick does to, and even if it's an alarm he isn't familiar with, Clark feels compelled to follow.

He isn't the only one. Both sets of Midnighter and Apollo opt to go right after them, either curious about what's going on or simply following the pack for the sake of it.

They descend down into the cave (Clark is sure Bruce is going to be upset they were allowed down there at all, but right then he's far too focused oh what's happening), heading straight for the Batcomputer where it sits off to the side. The screen's already lit up, processing things automatically, and Clark knows enough to know that's a _very_ bad sign.

Bruce reaches out, tapping at the computer, and a second later the largest monitor is filled with a live shot of Gotham's skyline.

Or more accurately, the absolutely massive thing in the sky above it.

Clark wants to call it a ship, although the sheer _scale_ of it makes the word _ship_ seem woefully insufficient. At a glance, he figures it has to be fifty or sixty miles across, although it looks fairly narrow. It seems to tower up into the sky, going so high that Clark is sure it must literally be extending long past Earth's atmosphere.

For once, Clark has absolutely nothing to say, staring at it with his mouth hanging open.

He doesn't understand how they're going to fight it. How is he supposed to do anything against something that big? How—

"The Carrier!" Apollo says happily, and a half second later Clark realizes what he's missing.

Bruce's eyebrow twitches.

"When you said you were going to get picked up by a ship—"

"We didn't say ship," Midnighter corrects. "We said we'd be picked up by the Carrier."

"Although it is a ship," Apollo says.

"You _neglected to mention_ that the damn thing is several times the size of Gotham!"

"What I want to know is where I can get one of those," M says, still staring up at the screen. "You said it was called the Carrier?"

"We'll tell you all about it when we come to visit," Midnighter says. Clark _swears_ the look he's giving his alternate self is almost identical to the one that Midnighter gave him and Bruce the day before.

"No," Bruce says. "Absolutely not. Do _not_ warp that monstrosity into our universe again, you've probably terrified the populace. I need to call Diana and make sure no one tries to bomb the damned thing—"

"We'll be gone in a moment," Apollo says. "Now that it's here, we should be able to just door up there."

"Wait, it controls your doors?" Andrew asks, glancing between them. "What about—"

"This seems kind of time sensitive," Dick announces. "Shouldn't you guys be... I don't know, making contact? Making sure the ship isn't bombed? You know, all that useful stuff."

"We'll come back to visit," Apollo says simply, and Bruce's eye twitches. "We'll stop by New York or something and make contact that way. You have a phone number or something...?"

To Clark's amusement (which he does his best to hide from Bruce, who's in serious danger of melting down), Apollo and Andrew quickly exchange contact information, promising to meet up and talk sometime in the future.

"Thank you for having us," Apollo says, smiling in Clark and Bruce's direction.

"It was fun," Midnighter says, and his expression implies things that Clark wishes would not be implied anywhere near Dick.

"We'll see you sometime soon," M says, and Andrew nods at his side as Midnighter summons up a door and the pair walk through it.

"...Well, this has been fun," Andrew says, glancing towards where Bruce seems seconds from losing it. "But we should get going."

"See you around, Grayson," M says, calling up a door and leaving with Andrew as quickly as he came.

A minute later, before Clark can even finish getting a hold of Diana, the massive ship above Gotham seems to blur and then vanish just as mysteriously as it had arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

Dick seems to recognize that he's about to be in trouble, because he's gone by the time Bruce finishes explaining the general idea of what happened to Diana. The fighters deployed are unscrambled. The military gets briefed. It's past noon and Clark is _starving_ by the time they finish, so he goes upstairs and starts to make them lunch as Bruce wraps things up.

Bruce joins him in the kitchen right as Clark finishes cooking, and they sit in silence at the kitchen's island, eating desperately.

"...You were wrong about what you said this morning," Bruce finally says, breaking the silence at last. Clark feels his heart sink, but he nods anyway, because he needs to hear it even if he doesn't really want to right then.

It needs to be said, even if he hates it.

"They aren't dating," Bruce finishes, and Clark's brain needs to take a second to reboot.

"What?" He says, because it's the only thing he can think of _to_ say. What else is there? The sentence doesn't seem to make even the slightest bit of sense, and he can't quite work out what Bruce even _means._

"Midnighter and Apollo aren't dating. Earlier you said they were public about the fact that they're dating, but they aren't."

Clark makes a face, and mercifully Bruce doesn't drag it out.

"They're married. They're married and everyone knows about it."

Right then Clark can't quite figure out what his emotions are doing. Is he relieved? Excited? He supposes that he's happy for them because they got their happy ending, but it still feels a bit like he's been kicked while he's down. He wants that. He wants that so badly, and having the conversation he is with Bruce _hurts._

"I know I... haven't been the best boyfriend," Bruce says. "I know— I have known for a long time that it's bothered you to keep us a secret, but I was selfish. I always put my own comfort before yours, even when I shouldn't have. Because you're right: everything we do is a risk. When I go out at night, I'm putting myself at risk, and the idea that letting the world know that we're together is suddenly _too great a risk_ is... almost funny. Fighting Vandal Savage is a risk. Infiltrating the League of Shadows is a risk. Telling people that I love you shouldn't be a risk."

It's the first time Clark's heard Bruce said those words, and his heart soars at the realization.

He means it. Bruce does love him. He's always told himself that he knows it's true even _without_ Bruce saying it, that he doesn't _need_ to hear it from the emotionally constipated idiot he calls his boyfriend, but hearing it...

Hearing it is something else.

"So I was thinking that... maybe sometime this month, maybe Clark Kent could run into Bruce Wayne at a fundraiser and hit it off. I know our anniversary date will be off in the public eye, but—"

"I don't care about things like that," Clark says, and after a moment he reaches out, resting his hand over Bruce's. Bruce has always had a hard time actually _saying_ that he cares, so hearing him say so much is... an experience, to say the least. "I care about... about being able to show affection for you without having to worry about who's looking."

"This is a compromise," Bruce says. "Superman and Batman can't... that would be too risky. I know Midnighter and Apollo have, but their world seems very different from our own. I thought it would be better if our civilian identities were, since people would probably think it strange if Batman was..." He wrinkles his nose. "Affectionate."

Clark cracks a smile at that, giving Bruce's hand a squeeze.

"I think the media as a collective entity would probably drop dead from shock, yeah."

"They'd hardly be the only ones. Dick _knows_ we're together and he'd probably still trip over his own feet if we so much as held hands while I was in the suit."

"Well, you _do_ have a reputation to uphold..."

Clark's having a hard time putting his feelings into words. He feels like he's glowing, every positive feeling he has swirling together into a massive whorl. He loves, and can be absolutely certain for once that he is loved in return.

"Thank you," he says, well aware that he's grinning like an idiot at Bruce. "I know this is hard for you, but—"

"Don't act like this is something I'm doing just for you," Bruce says. "This is... this is something we should have done a long time ago. Sometimes it's hard for me to stop keeping everything secret, and I should be the one thanking _you_ for helping me... course correct."

Clark can't quite contain himself anymore: he reaches over, pulling Bruce into a hug that's probably a smidge too tight. Bruce winces, raising his arms (as much as he can, anyway) to hug Clark back.

"...I hope you have a good plan for this _Daily Planet reporter dates Billionaire Playboy_ thing," Clark adds. "Because if you don't, that's going to end up the story of the year. Everyone's been waiting for you to date someone, you know."

"I'm well aware," Bruce says. "Trust me. Very... _very_ aware."

"We'll have to work out the details after we make sure Gotham hasn't panicked too hard."

"...Panicked?" Bruce asks, looking at him in confusion, and Clark grins.

"...The ship?"

"The sh— The ship!" Bruce says, sitting bolt upright. "I— Clark, how did I _forget?"_

Clark can't stop himself from smiling, so he simply leans down, pressing a kiss to Bruce's lips.

"I guess you just had other things on your mind, Bruce."

"Mmm," Bruce says. "I suppose I did."

Clark's more than happy to be the only thing on Bruce's mind forever.


End file.
